


Broken

by justsomewords



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomewords/pseuds/justsomewords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lull can only last so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

This is what it's like to be a broken man in a relationship with a charming, sociable gang leader.

A very loving relationship where his man brings you home when you were out and feel empty, when he talked to you enough to know you were slipping. You make him worry before his man brings you home and he sends you sweet texts that you never answer at a pace that is annoying but not smothering, just enough to keep you checking them and not enough to turn off your phone. You say you want a shot or few and to have sex but he declines immediately in favour of medicine and a good night's sleep.

You don't answer the texts for a while more, though they keep slowly rolling in.

Stupid texts like 'I adore you' and 'you are my world' and admissions of guilt and regret like 'I'm sorry I pushed you to be social' and 'it'll just be us for tomorrow night'. He puzzles over you and why he can never tell and you know how the sorrow breaks the glass surface of his heart as you text drops into it like a stone.

'I was trying to be good,' it said, 'I didn't want to be that way in front of anyone.'

But here you are now, with his man beside you, his voice broken in fear and sadness as you drone on in a voice barely above a whisper about wishing you could just stop. He stammers something out finally with tear-laced words, something about loyalty, something about 'all these years'.

He says, 'he won't do it because you just want to be

ｄｅｓｔｒｏｙｅｄ 

and those words echo in the silent murmur of the night.

That's exactly what you want. It's uncanny. Your laugh feels like coughing through pneumonia, thick and wheezing. You stop talking and ignore the text that comes through. He stays with you, scared and upset, wishing he knew what to do and saying aloud that he knows nothing will reach you. He's right and triumph spills over you, steeping you with the assurance that tonight will be the night. You end up at a convenience store and he's trying to find medicine for you. He doesn't know which is the right one.

None of them are.

He settles for an oversized cookie and a bottle of milk, though you state loudly you don't want it. You comment that the fridge moos when you open it. He impulsively checks it and a brief wash of delight tints his features. You say in perfect synchronicity as the girl behind the counter,

'I hate it.'

He stops trying to talk to you when you say that he's free to endanger you both if he wishes and that maybe you should die together. He only speaks to say he can barely hear you, the follows your inaudible 'good' with the acknowledgement that it's intentional.

As you pass over a bridge, you think about jumping. He comments that the night is very clear, thinking you're admiring the view. The light reflecting on the water bleeds beyond its image and you can feel yourself losing track of reality.

You replied to a text, a string of seven or so that had come in sporadically, promising to love you even like this. You said 'I'm tired', which he knows is an admission that you are giving up, though until you send another he holds his breath wondering what you've given up on. His man is silent as you send and receive, as he hopes his boss will know what to do.

He made the mistake once of interrupting and won't do it again.

'There's no room inside me,' you say of the blackness overflowing you from within. A flurry of texts respond, promising to clear out a space inside you for him, promising to fight endlessly and viciously against it. You laugh that sick, syrupy laugh again and keep replying. Soon you recognize the streets again, almost there.

'My arms are waiting for you,' he said, and you wonder if that's true.

You forgot how to walk as you arrive and his man rushes to catch you before you hit the ground. He talks so fast now, almost panicking though the door is in sight. He fumbles with your key and says nothing once he holds the door open for you. You stumble on the last step and you can feel the poison draining from your face, leaving your skin waxy and transparent.

His arms extend as he rises from the couch, greeting you warmly as if nothing is wrong. You fall against him, arms dangling at your sides, the scent of his shampoo choking you. His man stands anxiously by the door he closed, wringing his hands and waiting to be dismissed.

'Feed me all the pills,' your mouth mumbles for you, words keening. He holds you and grounds you, stroking your back, smoothing the tufts of hair behind you ears that curled with filth and sweat. He soothes you with his deep, even tone, and the tears that you feel have been waiting to be purged all day are clinging to your eyelashes, waiting to be freed.

He leaves you, counting out pills as his man fetches some others. You'd said 'I have a migraine' and he thinks he knows what will help. Antacids because there's bile on your breath, because he could hear your stomach churn when you held him last night, the pain killers for your splitting head and the sharp spike of agony hammering into your right temple. They both bring a bottle of water and the pills are piled into your hand.

'My fingers are black,' you wail softly, and they agree.

Down they go, all six, until only two remain in his hand. Two capsules full of drab green grounds.

Your medicine.

You swallow those together and wash it all down with a whimper. He makes the bed as you watch, smoothing out the sheets and layering the blankets against the night chill. He finds you something soft to wear and you slip wordlessly into bed. He busies himself with saying goodbye and putting out the lights, then returns to you.

'I need you,' you plead, and he agrees to come to you.

He lifts you enough to snake an arm under your neck, tucking your head into the crook of his shoulder. Your eyes are unfocused but trace the dark patterns on his chest that are bathed in the light of the screen. He reads the book you bought a few days ago until you fall asleep.

You can hear them all talking through the wall when you wake up. Him, his men, laughing softly about something as not to wake you. It's 3pm and you bury deeper in the blankets. You eavesdrop, listening to the conversations they have, thinking of how tired you are and how little you want to engage them.

After a few minutes, he comes through the door, greeting you with a cheerful voice and a flurry of kisses. He starts on your lips but dips under your chin almost immediately, trapping you between his arms as he smothers you with love. You writhe, the usual fit of giggles dying in your throat, your body contracting and doubling over to keep him at bay. He slows, peppering your cheek gently.

'Too many kisses,' he explains. He murmurs softly that he loves you and then gives the lump of fur beside you a fond ruffle.

'He loves you too,' he adds, and you can hear his smile on his words.

He leaves and says nothing about you to them, rejoining the conversation as it was. Soon, one of his men leaves and he does not call to you or say anything about your absence. They already know. They're good men. They're kind beneath it all. The other lingers, the one from last night, but they sit in silence doing nothing.

After half an hour passes, he comes to you again and tells you that his man will be leaving soon. You thank him and he momentarily presses his body against yours. He clears the hair from your eyes and kisses your cheek before slipping away again. He makes lunch for everyone and calls softly that there's some for you too, just so you're sure. They won't push you again. They understand.

You are a broken man and he will care for you despite that.

The tears finally roll from your eyes.


End file.
